The Eagle Correspondence
by Madeener
Summary: The story of Davion and Rylai whom as fledglings and hitherto have always had each other for solace and company, and the trials they face in separation amid a war torn world. A DOTA Fanfiction.
1. I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

This story is inspired by and adapted from Makoto Shinkai's Voices of a Distant Star (_Hoshi no Koe_)

* * *

**I**

Fire: swaths of glowing orange flickering and waltzing and burning to grey ash. Rylai's head jerked from left to right, bloodshot eyes squinting, fighting the pain of invading dust and dry heat. She could go nowhere, for fire was like a behemoth from ages long past, treading unknowingly upon the long gone habitants of the Mortalwind with its mammoth feet. It marched only onward, undoing all upon the tracks it would never turn to see.

Rylai wheezed laboured breaths. Beads of hot sweat hung loose upon the tips of her moist, blonde hair. Under her cape, she carried the bird whose mind was already dim from the pungency of smoke and blood. She shook the creature until it opened its eyes slightly, and in them she saw only a void where colour should be. She pleaded with the bird to stay awake in silence. She knew that if sanctum could not be found, it would pass on, murdered by the roars of brutes, the clangs of steel and the heat of strife.

Three blasts of the horn pierced the cacophony of battle, all staccato save the last—the call for retreat. She turned around, pushing herself toward what remained of their settlement on a pair of legs begging to collapse. A wave of men in iron rushed passed her, reaffirming the order in screams of different tones. Some hinted of madness, some detached and dreamy, others in a kind of relief, as one would make after successfully climbing a tree to escape from vicious mountain cats. A sword picked her up by the waist, hauled her on his back and ran with the crowd. She felt her sweat mingle with his, and the rough texture of his helm as her cheeks touched metal. It was stained crimson from what was left of his fallen comrades. A frightful gash decorated his right arm, made vivid by an oval of purple tint which spread from it, covering the skin. It was the symptom of an infection, one in their ignorance of its cause everyone had simply termed 'Blight'. He was doomed, but he did not care. There was no route of escape, no hope for salvation. They could see only the end.

He brought Rylai to the Commander's tent still erect at the end of the ridge where the survivors, whom numbered a fraction of a hundred, met. Most sobbed in a dreary silence, others laid helplessly on the sand, rigid and numb from exhaustion.

Rylai raised her hand, uttering a scant of barely audible words, and a wall of ice rose from the ground, separating the soldiers from their pursuers like a cage separating a songbird from the dangers of the world. She said no words to her saviour, and he responded in kind, dropping his body upon the granite and unfastening and throwing away his mail and spear and armour.

She walked past the many canvas pavilions until she found her commander's tent. Inside, a map of the East and quills and broken cakes of ink lay sprawled across a table which was a plank risen from the dirt with three hefty stones. In ecstasy, she tore off a piece of the map. She picked up a quill and a piece of ink and cleared the table of everything else with a swing of her arm.

She hovered her hand over the dusty ink stone and with a word of power it melted into a liquid blot. She laid the piece she tore off the map on the plank and began to write in a frenzy, sparing no time even to punctuate. Outside, a loud crash like the sound of an iron gate buckling after a final ramming told her her wall of ice had collapsed, and the terrified cries of the men whom collapsed with it. When she finished she rolled up the scroll and tore off a piece of lace from her blouse which she used as a tie, and then she extracted a small brown package from her pocket, and fastened both to the leg of the bird.

A pack of corpses tore threw the tent canvas and rushed at her, eyes red from an insatiable desire to kill. She waved her hand at them and froze their feet to the floor, but she knew her magic would not last long against their fervour. She ran out the tent and made for the top of the cliff, her strides widening with teach step she took. As she ran she yanked her necklace off her neck. She pulled the red jewel out forcefully from its socket and fed it to the bird. The bird's body warmed up against hers.

She reached the apex of the volcanic ridge. Waves crashed violently against the jagged stones below, and the hands of the walking dead drew hither. She caressed the bird, fully awake now, and kissed it on the head.

"Go find him," she whispered, and with the last of her strength, launched it into the air. It faltered for a moment, flapping wildly to adjust to sudden flight, and then it soared, disappearing into the horizon which chaired the setting sun.

Hot tears flowed down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and turned around to face her pursuers, and then she drew a long breath. It was filled with the salty perfume of sea water, made fresh by a tinge of sea-breeze and distorted by a hint of burnt flesh. She could feel it swirl in her lungs, tickling her throat, relieving her of the pain caused by her throbbing head.

She fell backwards, diving into the sea with a smile on her face. And then, she felt no more.


	2. II

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

* * *

**II**

Davion looked at the stars with his mouth ajar, feeling the breeze wash over his tongue. His eyelids felt heavy, and he blinked, only to frown when he regained focus. The distance between the purple star and Yonevik, the third moon, had closed, and the celestial bodies kissed. It was near midnight. She was late.

He rolled to his side. Cold white sand fell off his back. The fire he had lit hours before had aged into eerie fuchsia embers. It was mesmerizing, and it drew his mind in, like the smell of a Junivian Flytrap's honey, baiting a hapless insect into its harmless jaws of death. In its crackling glow, he saw the reflection of his thoughts: a pair of figures in a dimly lit enclosure. One stood poised, a stained helmet held to his side; the other was him, hands pulling back his matted brown hair, eyes fixed to the floor.

"_I'm sorry, lord, but it remains that none else exceed the qualifications."_

"_What choice do I have?"_

"_Unfortunately, none, lord."_

He shut his eyes, choosing to see no more. With a free finger, he traced circles in the sand, round and round in endless motion to draw his mind away from speculations his idle mind would otherwise make. By the hundredth circle he stopped, for something landed on his head. It was an eagle. Its talons gripped firmly onto his shoulder, digging into his skin with its heavy, sharp nails. He knew it could only be Corsair, and with Corsair, the person he waited for.

He planted his elbows on the ground, and tried to sit upright. The bird hopped off him, leaving scratches on his felt shirt and skin. It perched itself on the coconut tree overhead, scanning the moonlit horizon over the tree's firm branches. Davion shook his head, driving out the daze, and searched for her. She was already seated at his side.

Rylai was the same tonight, same as the night before, same as he had seen her every day since their reunion. She was still that same soft face, dressed in a robe of light blue linen, decorated by plum flower petals; still those eyes, with their powerful azure shade, betraying a subtle melancholy. Her eyes pierced through his own all the time, for he could not resist their penetrating gaze, but he felt no danger in her invasion.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

The inevitable pair of 'Heys': a routine greeting of merit they had yet to unravel. For awhile, both kept mum, letting no more than hints of breath and the howl of passing wind spoil the comfort of silence. They watched as the foamy outline of waves climbed the beach, combing the sand up and down again until eventually, the waves touched their feet, fizzing over their toes like beer from a newly opened keg. It was freezing cold, and she shivered. He placed his tunic over her back.

"Thank you," Rylai said, chattering slightly. He nodded, but said nothing back. Instead, he shifted his body closer to hers, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. A series of resonant chimes rang landward: the Gallant. They watched as flickering torches, tiny with distance, scramble around the vessel's deck, the maintenance crew desperate to keep it steady under the assault of high waves.

"This feels like then," she whispered, eyes fixed on the barely visible outline of the rocking vessel.

"Then?"

"Yes. Then," she repeated. "On that hill. Hathenfluss Hill."

"Ah…" he whispered.

"For you, the blackness of midnight I'd brave,

And return with the blessings of the moon.

For we are one, joined by fate,

And none will break us, ever before our doom.

"Will you marry me?"

Rylai had glanced at him then. "No, Davi, I will not marry you. I will continue my engagement to Lord Percival, as planned," she said.

"No," he said, grabbing her wrists furiously, "say it isn't true! We'll run away, Rylai. We'll run! And we'll find a little village in the Southern lands, and it will be there we wed. They will never find us!

"Let go of me."

"I won't! Not till you say yes!" Davion squeezed his eyes shut.

"Release me, Lord Davion." Rylai's tone was formal: a royal order. Her father seated far above his, and because of this her command was final. She pulled free from his loosened grip. Davion fell on his knees, eyes dark and in dismay.

"Well," she said, "if you've said all that needs to be said, I shall be off. I leave for Pentagor tomorrow at noon." She tried to rise to her feet, but a pair of arms spun around her just as she did. She struggled for an instant, but stopped, as whiffs of breath blew at her neck, one after another in desperate succession.

"Tell me," Davion whispered, voice croaking. "Do you love me?"

A silence. "No," Rylai answered.

Davion's face hardened. "Then will you let me remain like this for awhile?"

Rylai said nothing. She sat, eyes closed and shielded against the sight of the weeping boy who held her tightly in his arms.

The blast of a horn brought Davion back. Rylai's eyes were still fixed upon the ship. The signal lights twinkled with an eerie glow, turning from red to yellow, green to pale blue and purple to a dazzling white. There was silence again as they watched the flickering of the mysterious firefly lights.

"It's pretty," she said, as the dazzle reflected on her irises.

Davion bit his lip, feeling its flaky exterior slide against his teeth, and he stared at her, taking in her golden blonde hair, brown under moonlight. He edged closer to her, and touched her cheek with his, rough and full of warmth. She had almost opened her mouth to protest, but he had acted first, whispering into her ear in a sombre voice: "I'm going to board that tomorrow."

Rylai's jaw dropped in surprise. For a while, she felt her breaths stop, as she thought: Why? But there was little need for explanations, and even less for feigned excitement. They received orders, and orders were meant to be obeyed. All she could offer was acknowledgement.

"Oh."


	3. III

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

* * *

**III**

Davion fell back onto the deck with a wince. The afternoon sun and his three hours of sleep made even the task of transporting a coil of rope an exercise in endurance. Voices of men came from all directions—from top of masts, the nose of the ship, the hull chambers—in a flurry of orders of and echoing replies as items of importance were carried up and down, left and right. Gritting his teeth, he got back on his feet and walked toward the entrance of the hull. The sailors who crossed his path had the same forlorn look on their faces. Many were people of the land, and the voyage was their reluctant first.

"Davion, my lord," one whom he knew to be a former subordinate said, "your face is the shade of foreboding weather! Will you not rest?"

"No, I will not. All of you have toiled like oxen through this confounded week, and I shall do no less, lest my legs give way, or my arms be severed."

The man tried persuading him again, but he would have none of it, though the thought of a nap played wistfully in his head. He walked down the steps into the dank hull, and with painful force, swung his arms, throwing the rope into the cellar. Then, he fell back on the floor, a pillar staining his jacket with moss as he slid down its side for support. "Last coil in the hu-ull!" he yelled, and immediately came the reflection of his words from the cellar. He reasoned that a half minute of sleep could bring no harm. His eyelids fell, light fading from his eyes as he began to fall into a deep sleep.

A voice from above: "Oei! Davion, lord! The eagle's back for you!

His eyes burst open and he jumped to his feet. With new found energy, he hopped upward from step to step onto to the deck. He caught sight of the bird circling around the mast sentry, and placing a pair of finger in his mouth, he blew a whistle. The bird dived towards him. In strides, he walked to a wooden door and with a key from his pocket, unlocked it with a heavy click and threw it open. Behind him, the eagle followed, waddling into the room on its pair of skinny talons, dragging a crumpled envelope tied to a string with it.

He went straight for his lamb-skin sack. Objects and clothing flew around the room as he rummaged through it, searching for something as the eagle flapped its wings, lifting itself from the floor and landing on the dark brown coat-hanger, which served as a stand for the master's uniform and a perch for it whenever it visited. Finally, he found it: a hunting knife. He walked over to the eagle, taking great care to avoid stepping on the mess of items he had flung around the room. He cut the thick string and tore off scraps of covering paper until he held the letter in his hands.

_Dear Davi,_

_Hey._

_I believe with great faith that time would have done its part and aged this letter to a week of age when you read this._

Yes, indeed, a time surpassing two weeks had past since he sent his last letter, he thought, and the letter which preceded it took nine days for reply. He felt alarmed. Did the Gallant and shore part at such a rate?

_No news of the Gallant has reached us, and many are anxious. But the reason is all too clear, as ships of this continent become devilishly rare, let alone those which travel along your path. They know not of our correspondence, and I stand reluctant to inform them. I refuse to burden Corsair further._

_Our beach trail continues southward relentlessly, with no end in sight. The things we passed are mysterious—some I've heard of in stories, others I've heard and met for the first time. I once thought the ruin of Asgareth a product of fantasy, but my recent visit has proven me wrong._

_It is wondrous, abundant with faded murals and stones of text in a language I've failed to identify. It reminded me of home. And now, when I dream, I dream of our childhood, and often of us. Do you remember the times when we were fledglings, desperate to prove ourselves above all else? Foolish times they were, but nostalgia has coaxed me into yearning for them, nonetheless._

_Tell me, Davi: What do you dream of? A question through all our time together, I have failed to ask, and now when least appropriate, I ask for it. I beg forgiveness, but my curiosity is strong._

_Rylai_

So she's seen the ruin of Asgareth, he thought, laying the letter down on his dresser desk. His mind went back to the time when their master, Wu Feng, had told them the story of the three prophets entombed in the ruin's depths.

"A triangle is the strongest and most rigid formation in martial arts," the old man had said, heavily accented. "By nature, it is impregnable, and the three prophets used it to protect those people who hid in the ruin from the King's army without having to resort to violence." He made a triangle in his hand, and pushed one against the other under the bright balcony light of his house. Then he made a rectangle, and did the same. "See how the triangle keeps it shape, but the rectangle doesn't? It is a rule created by nature."

"But that's impossible," Davion said. "My father alone led four hundred of the King's men and slew a hundred heretics in the raid of Fort Kinhaji. How can three stand against the power of a thousand?"

Wu Feng lifted an eyebrow at his prentice. "And how do I, a man aging white with a stiff back, stand against the power of a young boy like you?" At this he shrugged, and Wu Feng continued, "In martial arts, unity is power, and power is, in the right hands, strength. A triad facing a thousand is unity, but a phalanx of men marching to the word of authority is not. The prophets did them no harm; the soldiers had nothing at stake, and because of this they united neither with their desire to protect their lives nor their desire to kill.

"Only through true unity did they resist a thousand spears. This cane I carry, I have done so for a decade, and it lends me its strength, as I lend it mine. Are you and your practice stick united?"

He looked down at rough wooden stick held in his hands, studying its grainy features. What was true unity? How does one obtain it? He curled his lower lip and gripped the stick harder. He knew the answers were there, and he was just too blind to see them. But just as he wanted to ask Wu Feng how he might attain them, Rylai came, hair tied neatly in a bun and in a white battle garb which reached her toes.

"I'm ready, _shi fu_," she announced, retrieving her own practice stick from the rack among the others.

"Ah, so you are," Wu Feng said, scratching the bridge of his nose. "Let us began then. A little sparring to warm-up?"

He made his way into house, feeling the cold hard surface of the bamboo mats sting the soles of his feet. Even after five years of living in the master's house, isolated from what he then knew as civilisation, he never got use to walking upon its floors without his sandals. Quickly, he readied his stance, and opposite him, Rylai did the same. She had just returned from Pentagor the day before, and he had not forgotten her rejection.

"Begin."

They thrust themselves toward each other. A swing, another, another, and then a jab, and a kick aimed at the face. Skillfully, smoothly, they crossed each other as if in a trance. The knocking of the hollow sticks resounded through the room in crisp _'pocks'_. Portraits of the house's previous masters looked upon them from their frames as if staring out windows, staring intently at the pair trying to outdo each other. All seemed fine for a while until slowly, he felt his steps land harder, his breaths becoming heavier, his strokes losing their force and his strength waning. Weaker he felt until he let go of the stick and dropped to his knees, his muscles felt rigid, and he could think of nothing. He saw her through what was left of his awareness. She was still standing, only with eyes closed, and slowly, she came closer to him and with her stick, she knocked him on the head.

"Wh- what happened?" he asked, coughing as his strength gushed back into him.

"You were detached from the Earth, as if your mind was somewhere else. I made use of your absent mind and defeated you," she said.

"You cast something on me, didn't you?" he yelled, but she laughed, saying, "If I had, you'd already be dead!"

He felt his blood boil and his face glow a furious crimson. He felt the edge of a knife cut through his stomach. In an instant, he rose to his feet, and with his stick in hand, he charged at her, screaming. They collided. She tumbled to the floor, two parts of her broken stick in each hand. Upon the floor, fragments of her necklace gem laid scattered.

He stood rigidly as he surveyed the damage he had done, still holding his stick against his chest. He had expected her to move aside, trip him, do something to make him look like a fool. But she did not, and he had taken her down with a barbaric crash, like a bull does its rival for mate.

Dumbly he stared. "Sorry." Rylai simply recovered, wiping the dust off her sleeves, and without a word, made her way out of the sparring room, carrying her broken stick.

The room stayed uncomfortably silent for a while before Wu Feng began to walk. Pausing in front of the quiet boy, he gave him a narrow stare. He expected some form of punishment from the old master, and shut his eyes, bracing for whatever came. But Wu Feng did nothing, and walked out of the room.

He looked around him, feeling on the verge of tears again. But he wiped his eyes with his sleeves, saying, "No, no more. I'm done with crying." He walked to the red shards on the floor and picked them up one by one, and returned the practice hall to its solitary meditation.

* * *

It was raining. Rylai could hear the drops hit her roof of canvas in heavy splatters, and though she felt cold, she was thankful. With this much rain, they would not have to worry about water for the rest of the week. Everyone hung their flasks and waterbags outside their tents to catch fresh water that night.

In her hand was the longest book she had ever chanced upon, entitled '_Flight of the Heavenwind'_. It was a songbook, telling tales of Dragons in whimsical riddles and rhymes. Under the faint glow of her dirty oil lamp, the faded runes rang drowsily as she sang the songs in her mind.

_O fair Freiyar,_

_O fair art thee!_

_O shimmer dost thy wings,_

_None a flaw can eyes see!_

_To thee my wings are given,_

_Or lifeblood if thee be pleased!_

_O fair Freiyar,_

_O fair art thee!_

It was a familiar song. Her mother had sung it to her once when she was a child. She had been mesmerized, listening to her mother's voice and playing with her locks. When the song was done, her mother had told her to stand in front of her and be perfectly still, and for a while her mother simply looked at her, and she looked back till she began to giggle and fidget, and then they hugged.

"My daughter, you are my Freiyar," her mother had said, combing back her hair. "I love you."

"I love you too, mother."

Her mother smiled meekly. From her dress pocket, she took out a chain hung with a ruby, and she put it in her daughter's hands. "This is my lifeblood, my wings, Rylai. And it is by this you will remember me. Promise me you'll never abandon it. Promise me!"

She had winced under the force of her mother's grasp. "I promise." Though she promised, she did not understand her mother's words. It was only on the next day she realized why her mother said them.

Her mother had tried to kill her father, and in their room she was slain.

She put down the book and looked at the red gem which rested between her breasts. In it the reflection of the lampfire glowed, blinking softly as the real flame flickered in its iron cage. And without her noticing, she let sleep take her…

Rylai was in her room in Wu Feng's house. Sprawled upon her table were old scriptures full of black runes—words of power she was to learn. Her chain hit the table with a light clank, and she noticed that her pendant was broken. She heaved a sigh, and set down her brush. I must have been so enraged by Davi I didn't notice, she thought, and she walked down the corridors back to the sparring room.

The room was empty, and no trace of the ruby could be found. There was only Wu Feng sitting by the low balcony, watching black birds hop around in his garden, their heads jerking as they searched for the a meal while the water parted the earth.

"_Shi fu, _might you have seen fragments of my pendant here, per chance?" she said.

Wu Feng did not respond. He remained mute, and she called out to him again, "_Shi fu?_"

"You are a skilled actress, Rylai."

She said nothing.

"So skilled you are that Davion feels at fault. He thinks lowly of himself now, like a barbarian who harmed one whom cannot protect herself. But my eyes can see what his cannot, and my eyes saw you fail to parry on your own accord."

Her head turned sideways, even though she faced Wu Feng's back. She did not want to face him, and still she was mute.

"You tell him his mind took flight while you threw yours away? I'm disappointed in you, Rylai."

"I'm ashamed, _shi fu_. I dare not ask for your forgiveness."

Wu Feng tossed an arm in the air. "Your apology is not wanted here! Bring it where it needs to go. It is there your pendant will be found."

She almost opened her mouth to protest, but found that no word would arise. She nodded gravely, and walked away, leaving the old man to his garden and birds.

As she walked once more along the corridors of the house, she noticed the smell of burning in the air. It came from Davion's room, and toward the room she made haste, running barefooted upon the bamboo floor. When she arrived in front of his room, the smell of burning had turned to the scent of smoke, and she feared for him. But after looking through a gap between the frames of his sliding doors, she was relieved to find him sitting.

Davion sat by an open window, crosslegged on the floor. In front of him, a little stone stove was lit, and atop it set a pair of shaping tablets metalists employed in their craft. By him, a knife lay, and in his left hand he used a fan to blow the smoke out the window. His right arm had a cut, and he held it over the tablets as slowly, his blood dripped, drop by drop, onto it. He bit a towel, and his face shone under a blanket of sweat.

He winced, shutting his eyes painfully and screaming into the towel which muffled him. But his left hand did not stop, and he continued as he did, fanning and minding his work. She scanned the room again and saw a mess of glistening red shards on his table next to a tub of honey-resin. She left.

Back in her room, she continued to practice her strokes with her brush. It was only a while before a knock came upon her door. "Hey, can I come in?" said the silhouette. It was him.

"You may."

Davion pushed the sliding door aside and entered, carrying the tub of honey-resin under a bandaged arm. He did not approach her, but sat just by the door instead, and then he drew the door back. She did not stop writing, choosing to listen to the mating song of cicadas as she waited for him to speak.

"Your necklace gem. It broke just now. My uncle taught me to mend crystals so, er, I fixed it."

She looked at her empty pendant in feigned surprise. "Why, it's gone! I've been careless to not notice its misplacement." She removed the chain from her neck, and held it out to him, saying, "Will you aid me in its repair?"

He shifted himself closer to her, and took the silver chain from her hand. She watched from the side of her eye as carefully he applied the sweet smelling glue on the pendant socket, and then some on the new gem.

"I'm sorry I charged into you back there," he said.

"And I'm sorry I didn't freeze your kneecaps."

She saw his cheeks harden again, the face he put on whenever he was disappointed. "I was joking. I forgive you," she said.

"Sorry," he said again.

A black bird landed on her window sill, standing sideways to watch them with its eye. It chirped a song, a cheerful song, and she remembered what Wu Feng had said. But again she found herself not able to say a thing, and she choked, as if an invisible leash hung around her neck. She put down her brush, sighing deeply.

"It's done," he said. He went behind her and slowly he lowered the silver necklace over her head. "It's not as good as it was, but I hope… hope you like it."

She looked down at her chest and lifted the pendant in her hand. There was something inside it which struck her: a dim light which glowed a pale, misty yellow. Her human eyes looked at it and saw the gem of her mother's, but clearly it was not, for her witch's eyes saw something deeper, something arcane. She let go of the pendant, and continued to write once more.

"Well, that's all. I'm going back to my room now," he said. He picked up the honey-resin tub and made for the door.

"Hey," she blurted suddenly. He turned around and found that she looked at him, and she was grinning. "Thank you."

His face turned a fiery crimson. He nodded, and then he left.

When Rylai woke the rain had stopped. They were due to leave by midday. She walked past the men distributing waterbags and bathing both themselves and their clothes and entered the Commander's tent. It was the same kind of meeting they had last, and before the last: always about "pushing down south", "retreating southward". A soldier under her command entered the tent, and whispered into her ear. She excused herself and left and walked back the way she came, and perched on her tent she found Corsair.

She brought the bird in, and fed it food and water. She removed the roll of parchment it carried and untied the knot which kept it unopened. She smelt a whiff of tropical aroma which spilled into the air, and then she read:

_Dear Rylai,_

_Hey._

_You were right. It did take a week for the letter to be received. The distance between us adds on even as you read this, and although I dislike it, "the sword of reality is acceptance", as our master once said._

_A mere three weeks was all the time it took to make me realize that ship travel, with all its glory and tales of merry, was something one wouldn't find akin to leisure. A horse may be violent, stubborn, demand a preposterous amount of upkeep and even kick you off its back when its mood is black; a ship is all that without the hard earth one may be rescued upon._

_With ship travel comes not only problems with the ship itself, but with the sea. It is a massive world given a truly unjust share of mayhem—never has there been a day free from problem, and matters of concern come upon such a frequent basis. There is always something wrong with the wind, something with the waves, something about the fish, and even mysterious leaks. How relentless the assault of complication is!_

_I am envious of you, seeing things we have only heard of in our childhood. I want to return to land, but I know it may be years before I do._

_Concerning dreams, I confess that I too often dream of us in our early days, and I miss them ever so. I want to live in our master's house in the country again, with the songbirds, with the irises, the morning glories, and the cicadas. But that place is gone now, and from it both of us divide more day by day, just as you and I separate._

_However, there is one thing I left there that I have yet to share with you:_

Her eyes widened.

_Remember when I repaired your pendant? I didn't. It was a lie. I lied about my uncle teaching me to recreate crystals as well. What you carry with you now is made from my blood, which I boiled and hardened into a stone with glass-powder. I'm sorry._

She found her heart lightening. She remembered her mother's sad face, saying, "This is my lifeblood, my wings, Rylai." She took out a quill and a piece of parchment. Dipping the quill into ink, she began to write:

_Dear Davi,_

_Hey._

_I knew about the pendant._

And just like then, for the first time in weeks, she smiled.


	4. IV

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

* * *

**IV**

"Hey, look!" Rylai said.

Davion looked sideways, following her pointed finger. His eyes met the trunk of an enormous tree, its hardened foundation spreading around it like webbed hair. As he moved his gaze upward, he saw the branches. They were lined full of buds so dense sunlight struggled to get through.

She ran off the road towards the tree; he followed. They felt cool under the thick umbrella of leaves.

"It's a cherry plum tree," she said.

"A plum tree? They aren't supposed to get this huge!"

She nodded. "Indeed, it is unnaturally big. But what nature decrees, nature decrees." They sat under it a little longer, lying against the rough base of the tree. And then she sang:

"Are you there, O greatest gift?

May I beg your grace beside

Me, when all the clouds fall

Upon the realm of mortals

And leave me with naught but you?

Grant me strength, O greatest gift!"

"You sang beautifully," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "But the song is not my own. It's from a book called _'Flight of the Heavenwind'._ My father sang it to me when I was younger, saying he ordered every man under his banner to sing it before battle."

"I see. But what does the song concern?"

They felt a rustle in the leaves, and lightly, the branches shook. "The same thing, which I'm sure, will make these buds flower," she said. "Let's sit and wait a while."

They waited minutes, and minutes turned into an hour and then two as the sun moved westward in silence. She was smiling at first, but slowly, the smile faded. When the sun was finally overhead, she sat with a frown, disappointed and sweaty under the fiery light of noon.

"I don't think the tree's going to do anything, Rylai," he said, rolling up a book he was reading. "We can come back tomorrow, if you like," he offered, "and the day after, and after that as well."

She stood up, wiping crumbs of dirt off the shirt of her dress. "It's okay, Davi. Let's return home." They put on their sandals in silence. He walked off hurriedly, with a picture of worry painted on his face as he watched her. She walked a little, and then she stopped. She turned around, looking at the white buds looking ready to explode. She closed her eyes, and let her fingers embrace in her locked hands. In her mind she saw the branches, coloured in vibrant, fantastic hues, sway. She saw the buds shaking about in motion with the bed they lay on. And then, she heard the crackling rustle of the leaves, and when she breathed, she knew the wind had changed its flavour.

"Rylai!" he yelled.

When she opened her eyes, the tree was a cloud of sky white flowers, dancing to the spring wind. There were white petals everywhere, and around them, the sweet scent which told one a cherry plum tree was in blossom.

"Wow," she said dreamily.

"How did you know it'd flower?" he asked.

She faced him, with her hands still locked in front of her chest, and said, "Because I share with my father the belief in the same thing. The gift of the barbarian people. Faith."

* * *

Rylai watched a man fall under the weight of his armour and sword. Around him several others scowled and bickered as they walked around him. He was now no more than an obstacle in their path. None offered help to the fallen man. They were close to fallen themselves.

She ran to the man and dragged him to the side of the path. She could see his life fading beneath his war-torn face and his silver hair. His eyes were dark and brooding, as was common for one forsaken by the light. When she rolled up his sleeve, she found the cause: streams of dark purple which crept along his veins.

"P- please, lord, I implore you," he rasped, "Let this one rest. I am near blind, and I h- have no wish to return to where I once dwelled. There is n- nothing left there which is mine. I—" He choked and coughed wildly, sending drops of yellow saliva into the air.

She placed a finger over his lips as she lifted her pendant to her own. "No, I forbid you to die. The fall of your sword will rise another within the ranks of the undying. I cannot allow that." She put the red gem in her mouth, and with her teeth, chipped off a tiny piece no bigger than a large grain of sand. Then she held the blood red grain over his mouth, and said, "Open your mouth. This will help."

The soldier shut his mouth, breathing heavily through his nostrils. She frowned. She could think of no way to make him submit.

"What's going on here?" said a voice from the rear.

A tall man with long black hair standing with his hands to his hips met her eyes when she turned. At his belt, a long sword slept sheathed, telling her he too was a lord.

The lord crouched besides her, and moved her hand away from the lying man gently. "Please, allow me to handle this. He marches under my banner," he said, and then he turned to the lying man and said, "How do you feel, Tabae?"

Tabae managed a weak smile at the sound of the newcomer. "N- not so well, lord. I feel like I'm weighted down by a hundred spiked b- boulders, but if you command, I will—" And he choked on his words again and spat out drops of blood.

The lord let go of Rylai's hand and picked up Tabae's, and squeezed it tight. There was silence for a moment as the lord stared at Tabae's Blight-covered arm, and then said, with the tone of lordship, "For two marches you had been my father's sword, and twice he sent you home to your family. I regret that I cannot do the same," he paused, making a sigh. "May I grant you a release from service instead?"

Tabae did not lose his smile. "Th- thank you, lord!" he yelled with vigour.

"Where will you go now? We are thousands of leagues from home, I fear," the lord said, letting go of Tabae's hand.

"I th- think I'll pay a visit to the trees in that grove over there," Tabae said, his eyes looking towards the forest near the path. "One never finds familiar things in the vale of green."

The lord smiled under a sweaty face. "Indeed, one never does." He put his hand on his face, and shook his head a little. "Would you like one for company?"

"I would fancy that, yes." Another cough.

The lord raised a pair of fingers, and a boy, squire by dressing, came to him. "Ryan, please escort this man into the grove behind us. Bid him goodbye at the other side." The squire placed a hand over his heart in salute, and approached Tabae to lift him to his feet.

He had probably lost so much weight carrying him wouldn't be too different from carrying a half-filled barrel, she thought. With clumsy, heavy steps and the squire Ryan's words of kindness, Tabae made his way into the grove. She closed her eyes for a while, saying nothing, and thinking only about Tabae and his smile. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to find the lord doing the same. But she could sense his unease, his eyebrows twitching wildly in his silence.

"You have done a grave misdeed," she said as she stood.

The man opened his eyes and turned around. "The only misdeed is letting an elder be eaten from beneath his skin," he said, words cutting with sharp defiance. "I freed him."

"You put a sword in the enemy's hands."

"Your words of power made sure I didn't."

She looked at him with curious eyes. He was no fool of a lord. "What would you have done had I not been present?"

Their eyes made contact. For a moment, she thought the lord looked like an acquaintance from a time long past. "I would have done the same."

"You would give the enemy strength to for a man's mercy?" she asked.

"Wouldn't the endsong of this march still be sung the same?"

At his response she found she had nothing to say. "I'm sorry," he said "My tongue needs a leash." He got to his feet and wiped sweat off his face. "I'd best return to my men."

Rylai shook her head. "A leashed tongue is only good for fools and flattery. Do I have the pleasure of asking a name?"

"I am Lord Percival of the Yuchen Vale. Our home, Lord Rylai."

"Percival?" She remembered the name well. "Than, we—"

Percival shook his head, saying, "The Percival you were never wed to was my father, who passed on earlier in the year. I am the heir to his sword, word and house. My name is Yuri Percival."

* * *

"You hear me?" said the girl.

Davion's eyes flashed back to the view before him: the dark green hills and plains of Way Island, upon which brown and black cows mooed and chewed the bright, sun-blessed grass. There was nothing here; no lords, no castles, no war. There was only quiet and the endless summer. A mule strolled behind him, pulling its cargo without complaint.

"Oh, sorry Chiaki," he said, pinching his wet forehead with his fingers. "I don't get much rest these days."

The girl Chiaki giggled. "You funny man," she said. "Rest only for people who no more light. Davi want sleep!"

"Yes, yes. Sleep. I need that," he said. Chiaki smiled back at him and turned back to the road, shifting to balance the basket of maize sitting on her braided black hair. She was the first person to offer him coconut juice when the crew of the Gallant disembarked upon the isle, offering the tribe chiefs gold and luxuries in return for rest on their land. But the Wayans who knew not the value of Davion's gifts in lands alien to them offered them their respite for their strength with plows instead, to which Davion agreed, but insisted they take his gifts anyway. From then on she looked for him every morning, and they'd go on walks while handling their chores, talking with what little of his language she knew and understood.

The dirt road reached a stream. She ran to and laid down her basket on the bank, and rolled up her dirty green skirt to her knees, holding the excess in place with an iron pin. Then she carried her basket into the sparkling water, sinking her shins in the water while the corn was washed. Davion tied the mule to a tree and sat by the bank, watching

Chiaki set the fruits side by side on the bank to dry.

A great hawk soared overhead with its wings stretched, searching for prey. He followed its board figure with a sullen face, and he thought of the letters, and Rylai.

"You waiting for great flyer?" Chiaki asked.

"What? No, not really," Davion replied.

"You always look up when flyers come. Always with wanting eyes."

Davion smiled meekly. "There is an eagle, named Corsair. He's a great flyer, and my friend, but he hasn't returned for weeks." His face hardened. "I fear for him, and for the person he flies to meet."

Chiaki washed the last of the corn and walked onto the bank. She let her skirt fall back in place and sat by Davion. "You feel here," she said, taking Davion's hand and putting it over his chest. Davion could feel the vivid pound of his heart, doo-doop, doo-doop, doo-doop… How long had it been since I heard her heartbeat? he thought.

"You feel that?" Chiaki asked. "That is drum of life. All things you love are joined by golden thread of life, so when drum of life not falter, than things you love also not."

Davion fell back onto the grass. "Love, huh? Not sure what that is."

"Love is sharing faith."

"Faith?"

"Yes, faith," Chiaki said, bending over him to look into his eyes. Davion could see a velvet glow in her irises; they were so mysterious, so full of things he did not understand. "Faith is knowing I go into your eyes and you won't look away."

Davion laughed. "So does this mean you love me?"

Chiaki giggled and fell on her back. "Maybe."

He looked at the blue of Way's cloudless sky. Just like her eyes, he thought. "Hey," he whispered, and fell asleep.

* * *

Rylai could feel Yuri's stubble scratch her shoulder, strings of his black hair touching her own. The arm over her back was heavy, and his breath noisome, but still she carried him in silence, step by step upon the rain-drenched soil toward his tent.

"Carried by a dame," Yuri grunted. "Damn me. Damn me!"

Pushing apart the flaps, she carried him into the dark, humid tent, and dropped him onto his rattan mat before lighting the oil lamp which hung at the top in solitude. The tent was dank and gloomy, like its owner was hours before. Yuri had charged into the officer's beer tent and ordered a mug of the golden liquid, drinking it all in a scant of gulps. And then he order another, and another, and more until he could barely stand.

He moaned as she removed his boots, cursing the pain he felt in his head. All the shouting and banter had left his lips parched and peeling. Rylai found a pouch of water hung on a splinter on the centre pole, and began to untie it.

"Rufus, Connerly, Big Aegor…" Yuri chanted. Men who had just that afternoon rode away from the march to delay the enemy. By nightfall most would have already forgotten such a sacrifice was ever made. Most except Yuri and those who remained under his banner. "Rylai, are you there?"

"I'm here, Yuri." She put the pouch to his lips. "Drink this."

The water seemed to calm him down and ward away his stupor as he gulped it down. He sat up, hands grabbing onto his face as his long black hair dangled limp from wetness. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he muttered. "Why did it have to be us? Just because we're the last group in the march? Just because it's convenient?"

"There is little in this world which sit equally on scales, Yuri."

"I ordered them to die!" he screamed, hands risen in the air and eyes red with madness. "To die, Rylai! What manner of—" He swallowed his words. Rylai had slapped him across the face.

"May I remind you, Lord Percival, that you are a sword sworn to the Yuchen Vale and my father. I will not tolerate such weakness before me!" she said.

Yuri gritted his teeth, growling as he spoke, "I never asked to raise the sword! I didn't have a choice!"

"And neither did I ask for my father to die two days before his forty-fifth birthday, nor did I ask to kill the people of my town who refused to abandon their houses, nor to burn their bodies on stakes like boars so I'd never chance upon them in another form." Images from the time of her words flashed through her mind. People screaming, cursing, calling out for her head. She had wanted to protect them, and they hated her. She had no choice but to do what her duty demanded of her, and they hated her. "Do not think yourself the only one unfortunate."

Yuri's mouth hanged open as he watched her. "I'm sorry, Rylai." He gulped and sniffled and blinked a few times. "I'm just so, so fucking—" He began to sob.

Rylai watched him. She remembered another person who had always cried. A small boy who rarely smiled, and always sat in a corner by himself at parties and gatherings those of royalty always had. All the other children did not talk to him because of his freakish scarlet eyes, rubies so fiery one would be afraid even to look at them. But she was not afraid. "A sword is never afraid," her father had said. She remembered what she had done to comfort him.

She pulled Yuri in a fierce embrace, digging her chin into his skinny collar, pressing her fingers hard against his back. She felt the thump of his heartbeat raise as his sobbing ceased, and his shiver as awkwardly he placed his fingers on her back. The stink of alcohol and sweat filled her as she took a deep breath.

"It's all right, Yuri," she said softly, in muffled words. "I'm right here by your side."

Yuri dug his fingers deeper into her back. Then he kissed her on the shoulder, and again on the neck. Slowly he made his way up, until he found her lips. Their mouths locked, and their tongues danced, and soon they could both feel a heat rising in their bodies—a wanting heat, a yearning heat—a heat of passion.

His hair is black, Rylai thought. Was it not yellow? She felt his face against her cheek and moaned as he advanced upon her body. No, this isn't right! His skin isn't so smooth. It's scaly. Then why?

She felt a hand slip under her blouse and onto her right breast. It massaged her gently, yet fiercely with a man's grip—a lover's grip. She wanted to give in to it, to let the hand take her into her fiery depths, but then she knew it wasn't his hand, for his hand was never so small. It was large and warm, never shivering as it touched her. No, it was not his, she thought. Not his!

And then she saw two people holding hands, standing over a in a field of viridian which glowed under sunlight. One was her, not a child, not yet a woman, staring with a pair of bright eyes at a sky filled with cherry plum petals. The other was a boy with rough yellow hair and blood red eyes. He was looking only at her.

"No!" She kicked Yuri in the abdomen. Yuri dropped to the floor, breathing hard on his back with his eyes wide open. Rylai too lay panting, and for awhile the tent was silent save for the sound of their breaths.

"Sorry," she mumbled. A great pain swirled in her gut.

"Get out," he said. His breaths grew heavier and quicker. "Get out!"

She got up and tidied her robe, and left the tent in a hurry. She could his screams and the tumbling of furniture behind.

"Where are you?" she said as she walked along the muddy path back to her tent.

* * *

"Men, we leave on the morrow! Have yourselves ready by dawn."

Davion looked at what was once the crew of the Gallant. Forty men with nothing but thin felt shirts over their bodies and pants cut at the knee, standing in crooked ranks and lines. It seemed impossible that these men were all once swords, trained and taught in discipline, able to assemble with a single command. Now, as they stood before him, they looked like farmers and fishermen, people spared from the sights of battle and who lived off the riches of the earth.

"Have you lost your tongues?"

The men fidgeted and lowered their gazes.

"Insolent dogs!"

The first mate unsheathed his saber, brandishing it at the sailors with a vicious look in his eyes. As he circled them slowly like a snake around its prey, the sailors trembled and gulped, but they did not move. They knew well enough that the first man to break down under pressure would have something put to the blade: a finger, a hand, or maybe something more valuable, like a neck. It was their homeland's test of trust and soldier's discipline.

"You _will_ have yourselves ready by dawn. Am I clear?" he growled.

No reply.

"Am I—"

Davion stepped forward. "Kafka, enough."

Kafka eyed Davion like a snake. He sheathed his saber, turned and bowed, taking one last glance at the soldier closest to him before taking his place far behind them. Davion walked before them and said, "Clearly the efforts of the tongue will not draw words from your mouths." Slowly, he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps this will."

He unsheathed and swung the weapon at the face of the man in front of him, creating a resonant 'twang' and taking them all by surprise. He could see in that moment the reflections in their eyes. There were no banners, trumpets nor swords. There were only the women of Way. The man screamed and fell backwards, the tip of Davion's sword narrowly missing his face, and then he dropped to the ground, arms above his head and dripping saliva from his mouth, as if wishing he would wake up and find it all to be a bad dream. Davion looked upon the man with his blood red eyes, and grinned. "I thought so," he said, and rested his sword to his side.

"Any man who wishes to remain may do so with my blessing and is released from the King's army. Those who wish to leave will gather here at first light." He sheathed his sword, and looked around once more before he turned.

The soldiers looked around in confusion before breaking their ranks. One by one they walked to the edge of the coconut plantation, and like squirrels women scurried out to meet them in embrace. All who stayed their place stepped forward to form a pair of rows. Davion counted ten.

"Very good. Fill the hull. Don't bring anything we don't need, including the cannons and silver. We travel swift at daybreak." He gave a solute and the soldiers shouted their acknowledgement, and then they walked their separate ways. Davion had hardly walked a step before Kafka caught up behind him.

"My lord, I must protest against your decision."

"There is no need for further negotiation, Kafka. The Gallant travels with the wind when few lie upon her back, and she needs no more than those whom have honoured me with their help in guiding her for what remains of her journey."

"But—"

Davion turned towards his subordinate. Kafka was caught in his tracks and stumbled a bit. "They will do us no good aboard her. I'm sure you know that through the façade we so readily celebrate her end does not step outside the boundaries of death. Let those who choose not to march with us do as they please, or suffer the fate of one who steals a furblog cub from its nest. Have some sleep tonight. Your judgment might return with it."

Kafka tried to speak but he could find no words to steer his lord toward the path he saw fit. He closed his eyes and turned, yelling at those who chose to stay to ready the sails for sunrise.

In the room he lodged Davion found Chiaki. She sat upon the rattan mat he used to sleep and was reading a tea-coloured letter unfolded in her hands. He snatched the letter from her.

"Where's the bird?"

"Outside sitting on banana tree."

He shoved the letter into his shirt-sleeves and ran outside, making a chirping sound and whistling in a high pitch. Corsair flew down from the canopy and landed on his shoulder, ruffling his feathers and flapping his wings to fight back the humidity which could do flight no good. The bird was much lighter now

"I found him in room when I came. He bite off paper... and I read words on it." Chiaki had come outside.

"Then you know why you should not have done so," Davion said as Corsair lifted off, having spotted prey in the air. "How much did you read?"

"I tried, but I cannot," she replied with a dim face.

"And it shall stay so."

"But I know the person who write is the person you long to meet."

"I leave not in search of her company. I leave for duty."

"Why you lie to me!" Chiaki ran towards him, grabbing and tugging his shirt-sleeves. "Your eyes are so red but inside they are the colour of earth. You want to stay!"

"And yet I don't feel sad parting with this land. Even if I do the eyes of my soul are averted away, and they can see only the crimson and blue of the flag I hoist upon the top mast of my ship." He ran his hand through Chiaki's hair, feeling the black strands between his fingers. "I am a sword, Chiaki. Throughout my life I have killed many people, and in return I must try to save something greater."

"People not born to live so empty! People have souls!"

"I know," Davion said.

"Then you know why I want you stay!" She let go of his shirt-sleeves and caught him in a tight hug, one which Davion did not return. He shut his eyes and for a second remembered the cry of a man he killed, and then the scream of a man killed by a rampaging ghoul. There was nothing to set them apart, save that the latter took something away from him and the former took someone from another. It would be folly to think that his curse would not follow him if he stayed.

"If I stay, Chiaki, Way will face the same doom my homeland meets a thousand leagues from here, and that burden I cannot bear, whether in life or in death. These eyes look towards the Heavenwind but they are blinded by the blackness of those I did harm to, those I shed not a tear for nor drank to in my short past." He sighed, placing his hands on Chiaki's shoulders. "Now they have returned to haunt me, but I will not allow them to blind you too." He pushed the Wayan girl away, taking care not to squeeze her shoulders to make her think him hesitant. And then he walked away, saying, "I will see you tomorrow before I leave."

He entered his hut and lit an oil lamp. He stared at the sky, hoping to remember the vividness of Way's night sky when he left. The sun shone crimson on the horizon, meeting the water in what he liked to call, 'the drowning of the sun'. The five moons of the Heavenwind had begun to ascend to their rightful places among the stars when Chiaki appeared inside the hut again.

"If I stay with you tonight, and no let go, will you not go?" she asked, clenching her small, hazel-skinned fists.

"No," Davion said. "But if it takes a gamble to dent your resolve, I shall take up your challenge."

The girl winched at his harsh words but spared herself no pity. Through the hours she sat by him, watching as he read the letter in his hands. He spoke none a word and moved only to swallow and shift, but he did not remove her arms which locked his in place.

When she woke from her unexpected slumber, she found herself rolled up on the floor with a woolen blanket covering her feet and her arms pulled up to her chest. Davion sat as he had the night before, shivering in place and with eyes staring into blankness. She cried for she knew he was lost.

* * *

"A swarm from the West! Phalanx fall in! _Hoi_! _Hoi_! Brace!"

Screams filled the camp like locusts in a barley field. They turned men into animals as they cut down the empty shells of their brothers and sisters who had risen from the land. Rylai fought both them and an exhausted heart brought about by two sleepless nights.

"Lord Rylai! General Harthu orders you to barricade the West entrance!" said a messenger as he ran towards her. "The wall of spears falls as we speak! Please hurry!"

"I cannot," she said. "I have expended what remains of my word."

"Then please do someth- anything within your power! I must return!" He picked up a javelin and shield from the arms rack and sprinted away.

Rylai rubbed her eyes and extracted the pendant she hid between he breasts. She took a bite off the already chipped ruby with her molars. Redness flashed across her eyes. Warmth, ecstasy and the beating of the heart at an inhuman tempo. She could feel the deathly cold of her magic course through her arms as she raised them above her head. She muttered a word. Thick white clouds formed above the West gate, and from their rumbling tummies came a storm of hail which blocked out the sun.

Satisfied, she lowered her hands. They began to tremble. She clenched them as hard as she could and fell to the ground. She could see specks of earth and wilted patches of grass. This must be a warrior's final view, she thought. It was like a horizon with no clear distinction, sky and dirt dissolving into a mirage where they should have met. She wondered if the realms of Paradise and the Hades her servants told her of could possibly exist. Will she arrive at their doorstep?

A silver arm flashed before her and held her head. She could feel another hug her waist. The arms lifted her to her feet. She wobbled around, unable to find the strength to stand. She could hear only a dissonant whistle-tone ring.

One of the hands grabbed her chin and turned her head. Yuri. His lips and tongue moved in asperated motion. What he said she could not hear. He shook her. Rylai. Another shake. Rylai, awaken! Her drooped eyelids began to close.

"Lord Rylai!"

"Yu- Yuri." Rylai coughed. "For what reason have you—"

"Have you not heard the battlehorn sound retreat? Your word has granted passage through the west gate. You must leave!" Rylai noticed a faint tinge of violet glow upon his forehead. "Do not fall here!"

"Forgive me, Yuri. I fear I have met my end." A slap came upon her cheek.

"Fool!"

Rylai's eyes darted open.

"Have you forgotten your oath as a sword? Do you intend to shame your father, our liege and master?" He paused, gasping for air. "Thyrandir!"

A soldier with a missing arm came to his lord's side. "My lord."

"Deliver Lord Rylai to General Harthu and his party. You will go with her."

"But lord, I can still hold a spear!" said Thyrandir.

"Now!"

Thyrandir's head dropped. "Yes, lord." He bent down and removed his armour, letting the rusted metal pieces drop to the floor. Then Yuri held up Rylai's arms as Thyrandir put his round her back.

"Yuri, I—"

"Say not, Rylai. You must go. For you have something we do not," said Yuri. He reached under his cape and produced a ripped orange pouch, and from the pouch came a sleeping Corsair. Rylai's eyes widened.

"Pardon my rudeness." He reached into his pocket and lifted out a crumpled piece of parchment. "I couldn't contain my curiosity."

Rylai could not mutter a word as he placed Corsair and the letter in Rylai's arms.

Yuri grinned. "Leave now! I will see to that you live."

No, thought Rylai.

"If you have lost your will, at least keep your faith." He paused. "And remember me."

Thyrandir began to move, dragging Rylai along with him.

As they parted, Rylai stretched out a shaking hand towards the man with matted black hair. Words from Davion's last letter filled her head, muddying her thoughts, silencing her scream.

_They teach us of the sword's soul and the soldier's heart. But where do these entities come from? Are they simply ideas brewed from the cauldrons of wise men's minds?_

Yuri unsheathed his sword and planted it in front of him, vertically in the center, killing edge toward the front.

_Then I hear stories of those who have come close to realm of the lightless, and they tell of visions of family, friends and home._

Soldiers surrounded him quickly. Rylai's hale clouds parted as they formed their ranks, and with the coming of sunlight, their shields gleamed.

_Perhaps the sword becomes a surrogate to these things and people when one leaves for war. Perhaps while we leave in body, we do not part in soul. Perhaps when we advance upon an enemy, they are there with us, singing out battle hymns, tapping on our shields with their hands and protecting our backs where we have no eyes._

"Yuchen Vale—!" roared Yuri, emptying his lungs with all his might. He raised his sword into the air.

_Perhaps this is faith._

"_Hoi_!" yelled the soldiers. And then a hundred spears pointed forward, and a hundred knees braced with a united stomp, awaiting the wave of blackness charging towards them.

* * *

The Gallant met the first summer rain one month after its departure.

"Ominous," said Kafka, tipping his rattan rain hat towards his face.

Davion simply looked upward, staring at the sea blue sky and feeling the raindrops splatter upon his face.


	5. V

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

* * *

**V**

"Lord Davion," said Kafka.

"Yes, I have observed it too." Davion's head hung before the rails of the Gallant and stared down at the abyssal moonlit water. "Do you think it queer?"

Gloom in Kafka's face was apparent as candlelight created shadows which exaggerated his features. "The suddenness is what worries me. The waves were aplenty a few moments ago. Never have we met such phenomenon in the months we have spent aboard. The moons too disagree." He bit his lip. "Could the stories we heard on Way not be of fantasy?"

"Speak not of omens, Kafka. I do not wish to hear of them," Davion said, retreating from the rail. "We will have to alter our ration plan again."

But suddenly, a wail like a thousand horns tore the sea's silence asunder and shook the Gallant's frame. Davion knew the worst had come.

The Kraken.

"Arms!" Kafka yelled, drawing his sword. Two men busted into the hull and came back with more soldiers and spears and shields as large as themselves. Another ran from mast to mast, untying knots to lower the Gallant's sails. All twelve men gathered at the centre of the deck, formed like a half eggshell of shields with spears poised and pointing outward, awaiting the inevitable.

"The beast teases us so," said Davion. "But at this side of the Mortalwind it knows nothing of Emperor's swords. Rejoice, men, for your greatest test has come! Rejoice!"

But as the tentacle the width of a man's chest hung over them, their mouths ran dry as they too were granted the sight many a vessel before them had come upon. The wrath of the beast of the sunset sea.

They broke up in disarray as the giant whip came down upon them to deliver its punishment. Screams filled the moonless sky lit by the Gallant's torches. Davion ran amidst the discord with his sword in hand and his body drenched in seawater flung onto him by the impact of the tentacle on water. Debris collapse and men alike scurried around the deck. Some attempted to strike at the invader. Others surrendered to fate. A giant tentacle wrapped itself around a soldier and crunched his bones, and then it lifted him up and launched the broken dead body into the air with a yelp of pain fading into nothingness as he made distance.

Another tentacle snuck up from behind Davion. He felt water dripping on him and spun around and slashed, only to meet skin so dense it might as well had been of leather and scales. He withdrew his sword and attempted to stab at the creature's suckers, but by the curse of the Karken's poisons the sword had turned brittle and broke upon impact. He tossed away his bladeless hilt and brought the shield over himself to hide from the burning vile muck leaking from the wound he made and ran for the wheel.

"Kafka!" he yelled above through the orgy of panic and splashes of water. He searched and found his lieutenant still standing and armed. "Kafka!"

Kafka looked at him.

"Go to the hull and get the barrel of gunpowder we forgot to unload!" said Davion as he picked up a discarded spear. "Hurry!"

But then he saw Kafka's eyes, not oval now but round and threatening to flee their sockets. The man gritted his teeth, shaking his head wildly and slicing through the air; Davion knew he had lost his sanity.

He dropped his spear and shield and collapsed as all the energy he once had left his body and dissipated. He closed his eyes and found that he could hear his own heartbeat. He pressed a hand against his uniform and thought of her.

_Who are you whose thoughts invade my own?_

His world was silent now. He could not hear the crash of dented armour not the breaking of wood and the destruction of his ship. There was only that voice, empty and monotonous, but with all certainty there.

_Answer me!_

"I am Davion, not of this land. And may I ask—"

_Leviathan._

Davion's mind froze. "I… I am honoured, Leviathan."

_You are aboard the vessel. You will die soon._

He could find no roots of malice in Leviathan's words. He clenched his fists prostrated himself upon his knees and bowed deeply, though he knew not which way Leviathan to be. "I beg of you, great Leviathan. Allow my crew and I to live! We have done you no ill!"

_What you ask, I cannot give. I am of a hundred minds, many of whom have been angered by your intrusion on our slumber. I act independently of my other selves wills, and for that reason I cannot stop._

Davion's mouth ran dry at Leviathan's reply. He watched another of the Gallant's masts fall like timber and the salt water he could not taste drip from his hair, and thought to himself fortunate he was to receive peace before death.

_There is, however, another way._

A bump. "How?"

_Make war upon me. Become the subject of my anger. I will ignore your familiars and kill you instead._

He felt his blood boil and his skin crack. His veins screaming as they stretched and ripped apart. His voice disappear and his tongue contort in bizarre ways. He felt the muscles on his back rip and tear, making way for new bones with pushed against his skin, as if wanting to break free, and in his nostril were black embers which ate the light.

_Rise, Davion, and show me who you really are._

And a black angel rose into the starless night sky, illuminated by the silver of forked lightning.

"Hriiiiiiiiiiiiiii—!"

Rylai, Davion thought as the beast took over his mind, I swear…


	6. VI

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the DOTA characters referred to in this story. No one owns DOTA (maybe Blizzard does but well…)

* * *

_Absence from those we love is self from self— a deadly banishment._

_- Shakespeare, W._

**VI**

White sails fluttered slowly, erratically, as if not billowed by the wind but by the strength of the word. Davion found himself lying upon water as he would upon ground, not with his body half sunk but with his back against the surface. The sky he always looked up to shone beneath him, while the place it usually took was home to a dark blue world like space without stars. He was unclothed and his muscles, a moment ago that of a creature's and wailing for air, were at peace now. There was no ache in his new body.

He placed his hands on the water-ground and sat up. He noticed the sails and cursed, bringing his fists down upon the membrane of his new world. He grit his teeth and folded his legs into his chest, and then he cursed some more, confident the debris was the aftermath of his failure. He clench his fists so hard he could have swore his nails drew blood, but of the opaque red substance he found not a drop, let alone a wound where it could escape the body. It was then he understood his predicament.

"The land of the lightless isn't so dark at all," he said. "What irony!"

"You are mistaken." A voice. "This place is but a parting between the Winds."

Davion turned white as he realised he was not without company. He lifted his head to behold the most beautiful woman he'd ever lay eyes on and the inert body of another man beside her. He found that no feeling of lust took him as he observed her pale-skinned body, but instead a strange fascination and yearning for her words. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. There was no mistake to her presence and her calm smile.

"Greetings, Davion," said the woman.

"You know my name. May I be honoured with your's?"

"I am Nervanna," she said. "The guardian of the blue."

* * *

Rylai stood up and bowed with her hands crossed over her breasts. "Great Nervanna," she said. "It is of great fortune that I of the Mortalwind have lay eyes on you."

"Forgive me," said Nervanna as she too took to a bow. "I gave in to my desires and removed you from the road to your final destination."

"It is of no matter. But pray tell your purpose for such indulgence."

Nervanna knelt down and touched the hair and face of the man who lay beside her. "For many months in the Mortalwind I have observed the travels of a certain winged beast. The winged beast flew and flew despite its fatigue, desperate to deliver a scripture knotted to its leg.

"Many times it skipped the rocks and islands that many others of its kind landed to rest in migration because they were not along the straight path it sought, and fearing its death I raised platforms with stranded fish from my world into your's. He would land and rest in the cracks for a few hours and leave again despite hunger and tire."

A series of scrolls appeared before Rylai. She recognized them to be the letters of Davion and her correspondence.

"I found great wonder in this bird's zeal, and its will to complete its task," Nervanna continued. "My curiosity became so great that I took to reading the letters it carried. But I regret that I am unable to understand that which the inhabitants of the Mortalwind value so dearly that the dim light granted to you, that which is so easily extinguished, may be forfeit in place of it."

She stands up again and looks at Rylai once more. "And so I have removed you from your road with a request," she said. "Will you read me the last letter of your correspondence?"

Rylai looked downward toward the sun. The crumpled letter she never opened lay hanging among the clouds. She picked up the letter and unfolded it. "Certainly," she said, and began to read:

_Dear Rylai,_

_Hey._

_I fear this to be the final message of our correspondence. The Gallant and I will be leagues West of the island of Way when you receive this, and having Corsair fly back to me would mean certain death for him._

_I apologize that I cannot return as I planned, and hope you forgive me. The road before me is one with no return, as a traveller walks into uncharted woodlands without a silk thread or making a pebble trail to find his way back. It was exile. I knew it fully, but for reasons I may not record should this letter fall into dark hands, there was no way to refuse._

_But know that never once have I abandoned hopes of returning home. Know with clarity that I sailed toward the future and with passion that I saw it with you. Recall when we stood beneath your favourite tree and spoke of building a house under it and the azaleas and irises and morning glories you wished to grow in the garden. Tread there and you will find the seeds of your plan ready to grow._

_I—_

* * *

—_love you, Davion. I've loved you all this while._

_Please forgive the coward who always pushed you away. Please forgive the selfish me who always took your words but would never return them. And please forgive the foolish me who never made you stay. We—_

Davion's grip loosened over the abruptly ended letter. He put his fingers over the spots of red and pursed his lips. He felt tears reach his eyes.

"How do you feel, Davion?"

Davion stared at Nervanna, ready to answer, but he found that when he tried to he had no words. "I'm sorry, Nervanna, but it seems that I too am not familiar enough with this feeling to describe it."

Nervanna sighed. "It seems my wish to acquaint myself with your mortal feelings will not be fulfilled."

"But," Davion said as he looked at the face of the lying man. "I know how you may savour it for yourself."

"And what may this method be?"

"Please hold Corsair's hand."

Nervanna bent down and slipped her fingers between Corsair's. As she touched him her eyes widened and her mouth hung ajar.

She stayed awhile, and then said, "This feeling… is love?"

Davion nodded his head.

Nervanna looked at the hand she held and clasped it with her other. She closed her eyes. "It's sweet."

* * *

Nervanna rose to her feet. "Thank you, Rylai. I wish to grant you a gift in return."

"I wish to see him."

"Alas, all I may do within my power is to return you to the graces of the Mortalwind. I cannot assure your reunion with him, for I am but a keeper at the gate."

But Rylai smiled. "Please save your concern, great Nervanna. We won't be led astray."

"But how do you know?"

"Because he promised he'd return," Rylai said. She brought her hand and placed it at the junction where her collarbone met her neck. "He is already inside me."

"Because I told her," Davion said.

"And just like all the other times," Rylai said as she closed her eyes and raised her other hand to her side as if waiting to grasp something in the marine blue air. "He will."

"She is the chalice which holds my faith."

Nervanna looked at the pair before her, standing stoic with hands clutched in a fierce embrace. She smiled.

"Then farewell, Davion, Rylai. And may fate be kind upon you."

* * *

A man woke. He scratched his hair and pulled out a leaf which must have entered through the opened window shutters. The cool spring breeze entered his house and nostrils, and the smell refreshed and gave him strength. He stretched, pulled on his shirtsleeves and his pants and left the house.

He looked upon the garden outside, stepping upon the dirt paths he tilled between each plot of plants. They're growing well this season, he thought to himself as he plucked a morning glory from a field and weighed its petals. The blue fibres were moist and tensile, almost soft like egg pudding, and with his trained eye he could see that bees had not left it alone.

He was pleased. He went to the stable, fed and watered his mule, and then loaded his set of tools onto it. Then he saddled it and made for valley where he tended his master's fields.

He did so for one day, and returned home to eat his dinner. He took pleasure in rearranging his furniture and reading a novel of poems he received as a gift from his neighbours.

Then he did so for another day, and returned home to eat his dinner and to sleep in full and enjoy one of his favourite cigars.

But on the third day he noticed something different. He noticed a sweet tinge in the afternoon air. Ah! he thought, elated. He brought the mule into the stable and removed its saddle and reins, and loaded a turf of hay onto its feeding pan. When he ensured the mule had no more needs for the night, he left and entered his garden and waited, and waited, and waited.

And when the wind blew the cherry plum tree, the jewel of his garden, let go of what looked like a thousand white blossoms into the sky where they cavorted with the breeze. He basked in the floral aroma he loved so much and thought of how lucky he was to be here.

A woman approached him. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

And holding hands they sat upon the fine grass to watch the rustling of their favourite tree.

**End**.


End file.
